


Dinner and a Show?

by Bobblychicken



Category: Cars (Movies), Planes (Movies)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-15
Updated: 2015-08-15
Packaged: 2018-04-14 19:27:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4576923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bobblychicken/pseuds/Bobblychicken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While the heroes are away, the villains will come out to play. Curiosity can also kill the human as a certain trio of bad guys comes to pay Dusty a visit only to find a human to torment instead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dinner and a Show?

It was awfully late. It was dark out and Dusty and Skipper had yet to return from training exercises. Everybody else had gone home and it was quiet as death, but Clarice had hung back in the shop waiting up for the trainer and trainee. She had her ear buds in and was absentmindedly flipping through the latest issue of Cosmo, but by some miracle she happened to glance up to see an intruder melt out of the darkness and make their way toward the shop.

Clarice took her ear buds out and squinted into the night at the stranger. It was a plane, no doubt. A very small one; even smaller than Dusty. Lower in profile and a few feet shorter in length, this plane was white in front which bled into a sort of henna design that turned green toward the back. Orange double zeros marked his tail and left wing, and the letters Z-E-D were stenciled in black near the top of his tail. No sooner had Clarice finished her assessment when suddenly there were two of them.

_Oooooohhh..._

The second one was identical to the first in build, only the color scheme in the paint job was reversed and the letters N-E-D were at the top of his tail. The black stripes that went from over their canopies down to the tips of their noses seemed to add to their unfriendly demeanor as they both eyed her with malicious curiosity. The first one spoke.

“Hey, check it out! Looks like Crophopper’s got himself a little pet!”

“Yeah!” the second joined in, “It sure was nice of him to leave it here for us to play with until he shows up!”

_Mmyep. I’m boned._

Clarice weighed out her odds, which she knew were zilch as she glanced between their two-bladed props. She could either let herself be shredded or try and make a run for it. Either way she was probably going to end up as a pile of ground round, so she ran. She heard at least one of their engines roar up but only made it 15 feet outside the shop doors before she felt something grab the back of her hoodie as another engine snarled right in her ears. Before she knew it she was lifted off the ground and saw it go tumbling away from her at a speed as if she were on some sort of thrill ride.

“WHOA FUCK!” she screamed as clutched around at nothing in desperation and sheer terror. “MOTHER OF… FUCK!!!”

Clarice could barely hear the one carrying her laughing cruelly through his teeth before he purposefully dropped her, his counterpart coming up and rolling over in the air to catch her. She supposed she would be impressed at the display of accuracy and agility if she weren’t about to shit herself. Her sweater was being pulled further and further up her body, pulling her tank top that was underneath with it to where the black lace of her bra was starting to show.

“Hey look! Dinner and a show!”

_Dinner?! What the fuck was that supposed to mean?!_

Then Clarice’s stomach felt like it had started running up her esophagus in an attempt to escape her body’s impending obliteration. Were they dropping their altitude? She couldn’t see anything with her sweater around her face; she hoped the thing would hold out. Suddenly the feeling in her gut increased as she felt the plane holding her let go, and just as she thought he had dropped her to her death she landed hard on her back against what felt like metal. She groaned. It felt oddly warm. Then she heard the growl of an engine and a rumbling underneath her and she rapidly scrambled over onto her stomach to find herself staring into a pair of olive-colored eyes.

Clarice had landed on the nose of a huge plane. He was probably as big as Skipper, but it was hard to tell as his green and black color scheme blended with the darkness too well. Clarice shrank back only to gasp as she was tossed off onto the grass below.

The plane waited, allowing her to get to her feet so as he could get a good look at her, and so she got a good look at him now. By all rights and accounts, this guy was a heavily modified American P-51 Mustang, and if by modified you meant that everything that could be sacrificed was taken off to improve speed and aerodynamics for racing. And to make up for what looked like a real beast of an engine. His contra-rotating propellers looked formidable as he held them in a sort of dragon-fly position so that they didn't obscure his vision. Clarice thought faintly through her fear that the whole get-up gave him the expression of an ornery lizard.

All the while this plane stared Clarice down. His original intent was to kill her. That'd teach Dusty not to be here for his regularly scheduled torment, the little twerp. But then he became curious. This was the first human being he had ever seen in person, only seeing pictures of them or hearing about one rumor or another. Well, now...

He advanced upon her, lowering his nose and thrusting it forward, the nose-cone nearly poking her in the middle of her chest he was so close. He stared inquisitively down that long nose of his a moment before pushing her roughly, knocking her on her back on the grass again. She barely noticed the first two planes on the edge of her peripheral vision, watching as the big plane bent forward again, sort of nosing her around her neck.

_Thi... this can't be happening!_ Clarice thought as he brought one of his four propeller blades over and pressed it just under the left side of her jaw.

Then he slowly started to drag it, the sensation making her eyes burn from the salt in the tears that threatened to form. It haunted across her throat like a sharp, stomach-wrenching claw raking along in a sort of perverted curiosity.

_N-no... Please. Please..._

Clarice was frozen on the spot. She dared not blink. Not move. Not make a peep. Not cry. Because then she would die. This demon would take her soul. Her fingers constricted and twitched as his mouth opened, and with surprising dexterity, gently bit at the front of her sweater, pulling with his teeth until it came taught and snapped back. The vomit was sitting right in the middle of her throat, and although Clarice didn't know it at this point, planes were very tactile with their mouths and propeller blades, naturally. It wasn't uncommon at all for any aircraft to see something new and start nosing it or picking it up it their mouth in order to learn a little more about it.

Clarice cringed out a whimper, making a few tears spring off her eyelashes as he grabbed her hoodie by the shoulder, pulling her back to her feet. And then her arm was in his teeth, and he pulled at her a bit before he heard his cronies yell for him. It was common knowledge that the big guy had a habit of playing with his food, if you will, but they were getting impatient. They had heard stories of how easily injured human beings were and they were itching to test the theory out for themselves now that they had the opportunity.

“Come on, boss! Slice her already!”

“Yeah, we want to see what she looks like with her guts on the outside!”

The Mustang's engine made a noise like a hissing growl in eager anticipation before he fired it up, and the blades spun into a deadly cacophony, ready to rip her to strips. He was interrupted however, as he felt himself being jerked back by the tail and with impressive force. It had to be that Corsair, Skipper. He was yanked back again, and before he could turn around to deal with his assailant he was suddenly blind-sided by what felt like a freight-train and sent nearly flying off his landing gear.

For a full ten seconds he struggled as he tried to hobble back up in a state of partial-paralysis that rattled and delayed his nerves. Okay, THAT was Skipper. But then who... The green and black checker-marked plane finally got back up on his landing gear to see Skipper standing where he had been before he got knocked into la-la land, but off to the side was Dusty Crophopper himself, with the girl standing protected behind his left wing where it joined to his body. Son of a bitch... He had forgotten how freakishly strong Dusty could be sometimes.

No sooner than he'd stopped seeing stars Skipper fell upon him once again, biting and wing-slapping. His two followers closed in, looking for an opening to join the fight at which time Dusty flung himself headlong into the scuffle, using the same trick that Skipper had used on the bigger plane on one of them. This time he succeeded in knocking the one that was white in front onto his back before closing with the other. Meanwhile, the P-51 and Skipper broke from each other. The green and black plane crouched down into his landing gear, his engine revving angrily. He was about to speak when Dusty faced him.

“That's enough, Ripslinger.” said Dusty, quietly but firmly. “Go. Now.”

He stared at the former crop-duster and then to the Corsair. Normally, Ripslinger wasn't really given to careful calculation if a fight presented itself. Ferocity and aggression were everything, and he had won nearly every fight he'd been in using his weight and the fact that most of his opponents were afraid of him. Once they went down they seldom got back up. But he considered the Corsair in front of him this time. Those kind of tactics would never work on a plane of his caliber. Although Ripslinger was meant to be raced and not to fight, it was still in his heritage to be a war bird too, and he could throw down with the best of them. But Corsairs were out and out bruisers. Heavily armored and with more firepower than you could shake a stick at. Ripslinger had heard stories of enemy air craft emptying their ammunition into them only to finally be shot down as if they were no more than a minor annoyance while they went about completing their mission. You needed major anti-aircraft munitions to bring one of those bastards down.

With a sort of fatigued, muted surprise, Ripslinger realized that he didn't want to try to attack Skipper. The only chance he really had would be to use his propellers, his trump card if a fight started to go sour, but he could end up tearing them up trying to get through Skipper's armor for the effort. He knew, with absolute certainty, that he was simply not up for it. And who the hell was? At least maybe not tonight.

“Alright, we're gone. But you'd better keep Little Miss Squishy close.” Ripslinger turned to Clarice now, “We'll see you later, sweetie pie.”

Dusty and Skipper watched as Ripslinger and the two others took their leave. Skipper's engine hissed as all the tension in the last few minutes left his body.

“Well... What do we do now?”

“I hadn't thought of this.”

Dusty seemed to deflate a little himself as his eyes traveled down to where Clarice was now leaning against him in the crook of his wing again for support, clearly shaken.

**Author's Note:**

> And the plot thickens! Much to the chagrin of Clarice Watson, who despite her little boy-like affinity for aircraft of any kind, is absolutely terrified of heights and flying.


End file.
